Tech Support
by Morrigan the Nightmare Queen
Summary: A short play intended for the radio. How can a lowly technical support man deal with an impending destruction of the entire planet?


Tech Support  
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Author's Note: How does a lowly tech-support guy deal with an impending annihilation of the species?  
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A phone is heard: ringringring.  
  
Ron (courteous and efficient): Hello, this is A. Lee and B. Eng's Innovative Technology Service technical support, Ron speaking.  
  
Customer #1: Uhm- yeah. You see- uh, Bob, the um, the, the screen thingie, y'see it's not, uh, not really, well, working, and I-"  
  
Ron: What 'screen thingie' and what device are you speaking of?  
  
Customer #1: Well, according to the, uh, the package, it's a, a, XV, uhm, XV-7000 tetchnaloggecally advanced computer monitor.  
  
Ron: The XV model, yessir. And what screen thingie?  
  
Customer #1: The- y'know, the screen thingie."  
  
Ron: What screen thingie?  
  
Customer #1: The screen thingie.  
  
Ron: Sir, if I'm not mistaken, the entire monitor somewhat resembles a screen, and I-  
  
Customer #1 (offended): The screen thingie, I tell you! Are you people retarded?!  
  
Click. The phone is hung up.  
  
Ringringring.  
  
Ron (slightly put off, but still determined to do job well): A. Lee   
and B. Eng's Technology technical help, Ron speaking. What's wrong?  
  
Customer #2 (imperative): My Zxx printer that I just bought from you people. It won't turn on.  
  
Ron: What's wrong with it?  
  
Customer #2: I tell you, it won't turn on! I press all the little buttons, and nothing happens!"  
  
Ron (bemused): Have you tried the 'power' switch?  
  
Customer #2 (furious): Are you insulting my intelligence?!  
Click.  
  
Ron: Hello? Hello? Sh*t.  
  
Ringringring.  
  
Ron (getting a bit frustrated, dropping formalities): A. Lee and B. Eng's technical help, what's your problem?  
  
Customer #1: Well, uhm, I called like five hours ago, and I've been waiting for you to call me back. See, it's my XV-7000 tetchnaloggecally-  
  
Ron (getting mad): You hung up on me two minutes ago. What's yer problem?  
  
Customer #1 (snooty): Hmmph. If you're going to get snippy, then I'll take my business elsewhere.  
  
Click.  
  
Ringringring.  
  
Ron (grouchy): Lee and Eng's tech support, what's your complaint?  
  
Whiny Voice: Hello, is Muffy there?  
  
Ron: No, there's no Muffy here-  
  
Voice: Then tell her that Grandma and the rest of the clan are awfully worried over her boo-boos. She shouldn't have done that. Tell Muff-kins to come home right away, you hear?  
  
Click.  
  
Ringringring.  
  
Ron (seriously cheesed off): Tech support, what the f*ck do ya want?  
  
Dazzoths (high, reedy voice): Is this Alien Being's Innovative Technology technical support?  
  
Ron (still mad): I don't know. Sometimes it's a f*cking retard convention.  
  
Dazzoths: What?  
  
Ron: Yeah, something like that. Anyway, what's your problem?  
  
Dazzoths: Ah, that's the heart of it. The noybga-jartical zavvers have tibbed a liv, I think-  
  
Ron: Say what?   
  
Dazzoths: The noybga-jartical zavvers have tibbed a liv, of course. And we don't-  
  
Ron: Wait a minute. This is another one of those prank calls, isn't it.  
  
Dazzoths: Prank calls?  
  
Ron: Yeah, that's it. Any minute now, you're going to ask me if my refrigerator's running. So give up, willya? I have actual work to do.  
  
Dazzoths: I beg your pardon?  
  
Ron: What do you mean?  
  
Dazzoths: Are you referring to me as a prank call?  
  
Ron: Yeah, so what?  
  
Dazzoths: Is that derogatory?  
  
Ron: There's no way to make it sound like an achievement, if that's what you- hey. (Growing suspicious.) Say over that thing about the noba-jars.  
  
Dazzoths (slightly annoyed): The noybga-jartical zavvers have tibbed a liv. And we don't have any backup ooyarae, so we had to call tech support. Now are you going to help us or not?  
  
Ron: Sure, whatever. Saay- (really suspicious now)- who are you, anyway? Where're you from?  
  
Dazzoths: Will this information assist you in the alleviation of our predicament?  
  
Ron: Uh- yeah. Yes, it will.  
  
Dazzoths: Very well. I am Debga-Ackmann-Zarvu-Zana-Ockmarg-Tajix-Herunting-Scrav, DAZZOTHS for short. I am a Xanelan, from the 57th quadrant of the Omega Galaxy, resident of planet Genex and commander of the starship Sapienmenace. When we were in Krellspace, the noybga-jartical zavvers just up and tibbed a pedeting liv, and we had to eat our last mechanic some time ago, and your line was the only tech support we could reach from this lousy position.  
  
Ron: Eat your mechanic? Krellspace? Where are you, anyway?  
  
Dazzoths: Low Cyaka orbit.  
  
Ron (sarcastically): Well, that doesn't help much, does it? What the f*ck is Seeyacka, anyway?  
  
Dazzoths: Some people know it as- uh, hold on- (shouts to someone else)- Trebghag, what the pedet do the sapiens call their planet? What? OK, thanks. (To Ron.) Some people know it as Ayurth.  
  
Ron: Ayurth? Earth? (Really, really, REALLY suspicious now) And why are you in low Earth orbit?  
  
Dazzoths: Frezz, what is this? Tech support or a Gredabo interrogation?  
  
Ron (thinking quickly): I, uh, need to know this so I can assembled a good picture of your case. Little stuff can effect big things, you know.  
  
Dazzoths: HT, that works. Well, our superiors are really ticked off at the dumb race inhabiting that planet- sapiens, we call 'em- and we've been sent to use the noybga-jartical ray to wipe out the whole species. But the zavvers tibbed a liv, as I've only said a hundred times before, and we're stuck. Can you help us?  
  
Ron: Hold on for a couple of minutes. I'll be back in a sec.   
Beep. Ron presses the 'Hold' button, and elevator music starts playing in the background. He talks to himself.  
  
Ron: So they're here to wipe out the species, huh? Not if I can help it. But what can I do? I'm only second-rate tech support for a third-rate company, nobody would listen to me. Think, Ron, think. Look at this logically. The aliens are customers, just like anyone. They want their stuff repaired. They're relying on me to repair it. But I don't want it to get repaired. So how do I deal with unwanted customers?   
  
A slow smile grows on his face.  
  
Ron: Of course.   
  
Suddenly, in the background, the elevator music stops. A mechanical voice comes on.  
  
Voice: Your call is important to us. Please continue to hold, and a representative will be with you shortly.  
  
The music starts again.  
  
Ron: OK, that line is tied up. I'll just switch to another one.  
  
Ringringring.  
  
Ron (renewed vigour): Hello, A. Lee and B. Eng's Innovative Technology technical support, Ron, speaking.  
  
Customer #3: Hello? Well, there's this problem with my computer, a little light keeps flashing . . .  
  
END   



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